Date: Sat, 14 May 2011 21:04:42 -0700
From: h.schreiber@hushmail.com
Subject: Just Like Scott Chapter 18 by Hans Schreiber

Warning! This story is a work of fiction written by a legal age adult. Any
similarity between the fictional characters and any live persons is purely
coincidental. This story contains fictional descriptions of sexual activity
between consenting minor youth. If you are under the age of 18, and/or if
you are offended by this content, and/or if it is illegal in your
jurisdiction to possess or read such material, please leave now and do not
read this story as neither the internet host nor the author can be
responsible for your actions. Please, always practice safe sex; no
momentary thrill is worth your life.

This work is copyrighted © by Hans Schreiber. You may not reproduce this
story in whole or in part without the express written consent of Hans
Schreiber at h.schreiber@hushmail.com.

Chapter 18

Not That Easy

	MOM! DAD! GET UP! Scott was running and hollering. His dad met him
at their bedroom door and Scott breathlessly started talking, "It wasn't
Tom. Sammy told me what really happened. It's this creep that's been
hanging around Sammy and his friends at Durfee Rec. His name's Devon and
he's a real creep. It wasn't Tom. I'm so relieved it wasn't Tom. We have to
call the police and get Tom out of jail. Oh my god, what have we done to
Tom. Hurry up."

	"Okay, hold on. Go to the kitchen and I'll get the detective's card
and we'll call."

	Scott could scarcely sit still. It seemed like forever before his
dad came out in his robe with the card the detective had given him. His
father dialed the phone and Sammy walked in and stood in the doorway
hugging his teddy bear. His father waved him in. Sammy sat next to Scott
squeezing the stuffing out of his little brown bear.

	"Hello, this is Mr. Johnson, Sammy's father. We have important new
information for you. Sammy has revealed the true perpetrator and it isn't
Tom Morris. Please call back as soon as possible."

	"Wait. What?" Scott said. "You just left a message?"

	"The voicemail said to leave a message and he would call back."

	"No we can't wait. We have to let them know Tom is innocent and get
him out of jail."

	"We just have to be patient. Why don't you two go back to bed and
I'll take care of it from here," his father suggested.

	"I can't sleep now. All I can think of is poor Tom sitting in jail,
accused of hurting Sammy and how horrible it must be for him. We have to do
something. Call 9-1-1."

	"Scott, we can't call 9-1-1 for this. We just have to wait for the
detective to call us back. Take Sammy back to bed and we'll sort it out in
the morning if he doesn't call before then."

	"Let me call, then. Dad we can't just sit here and do
nothing. Tom's in jail. What if it were the other way around? What if it
was me in jail?"

	"Okay. Get the phone book out for me." Scott's dad looked exhausted
and Scott could tell he was struggling to hold it together. He called the
non-emergency number for the police department and explained the
situation. The woman took the information and said she would pass it on to
the detective. She doubted that he would call before morning, but that was
all she could do.

	Reluctantly, Scott led Sammy back to bed where Sammy crashed
quickly, snuggled up against Scott. Scott had no idea how long he lay there
berating himself for suspecting Tom. He couldn't believe what a mess
everything turned out to be. Eventually, sleep took him captive.

	"Scott. Scott wake up." He felt his father shaking him by the
shoulder. He forced his eyes open and saw his father holding the phone.

	"Hmm. What?"

	"Scott, this is detective Adams. He wants to speak to you."

	Scott forced his eyes open and recalled the prior night's
nightmare. He reached for the phone, "Hello, this is Scott." He explained
what Sammy told him about Devon. He explained that he didn't know Devon's
last name but he thought he was a student at the college and was pretty
sure he said he played on the basketball team there. "No sir. It's for sure
him. He's really creepy and he is always hanging around the younger boys in
the locker room," Scott said.

	After a frustrating conversation, Scott handed the phone over to
his dad. He went in to pee and Sammy followed him. They peed together. "I'm
sorry I got Tom in trouble," Sammy said sadly.

	"Yeah, me too. I should have known he couldn't do something like
that. I just jumped to conclusions. I wish you would have told on Devon
right off though, but it's over so no use wishing."

	"Tom was so nice to me. He helped me. Devon was in the closet
hiding and Tom took me to Tommy's house to get away from him."

	"Wow. You must have been terrified. I'm so sorry, Sammy. We'll get
that jerk, Devon. He'll pay for what he did and I'll never let him hurt
you. Never!" Sammy gave Scott a hug and they went and got dressed and went
to get a bowl of cereal.

	"Dad, what's going on? Have they let Tom go? We need to find a way
to talk to him. Can we get his phone number or address from the cops. I
have to apologize to him and make sure he's okay."

	"Scott, the detective said he isn't going to do anything until he
can come and talk to Sammy in person. Until he is convinced otherwise, he
still considers Tom the primary suspect."

	"WHAT?" Scott shouted. "That's nuts. We know who did it. They can't
just leave Tom in jail. That's not right." Scott paced like a caged cat
until the detective finally showed up along with the same social worker
lady. Scott relayed exactly how Sammy told him that it was really Devon who
attacked him after he told Sammy that Tom had been arrested.

	"Did you suggest to Sammy that it was Devon?" asked the social
worker.

	"What? No. He just told me straight out that it wasn't Tom, it was
Devon," Scott countered.

	"Did you tell him you were upset that Tom was arrested?" she
pursued.

	"No. It went exactly like I just told you. I told Sammy he was safe
now because Tom was arrested and couldn't hurt him and then Sammy said it
wasn't Tom, it was Devon. I've told you three times now. That's how it
went."

	"Were you upset about your friend, Tom, who you were being sexual
with, being arrested for abusing your little brother?" she asked
accusingly.

	"What are you saying? That I somehow told Sammy to make it up about
Devon? That's crazy."

	"I never suggested that. You just did."

	"What the hell is this? Devon is the creep that abused my brother
and Tom is innocent. What's wrong with you people?" Scott stood and was red
in the face.

	"Son, sit down and calm down. They're just doing their jobs," said
Scott's father.

	"No dad. They're not doing their jobs. Their job is to get the
creep who did this and to let Tom out of jail. He didn't do anything and
now they're trying to twist things around."

	"All right," said detective Adams. "We'll go talk with Sammy now."
They went into Sammy's room and were in there a long time - maybe an
hour. Scott was pacing again and wanted to go listen in but his dad
wouldn't let him. Finally, detective Adams came out and left the social
worker in there with Sammy. He was on his phone and walked outside for
privacy.

	"Mr. Johnson," began the detective as he walked back in, "here is
where things stand. We don't have enough evidence to get a warrant for this
Devon character. Hell, right now we can't even be sure if we have the right
person. There is a tall young man named Devon on the freshman basketball
team at the college like Scott suggested. He fits the description of
whoever has been hanging around the neighborhood, as does Tom Morris. We
did some checking and we found out that he has no record whatsoever. He's
an honor student and an exceptional athlete. He comes from a solid family
in Boise. His father even works in the D.A.'s office there. We sent someone
over to ask him some questions and based on what he told us, he was out
riding his bike on Saturday and judging by the time he returned to his
dorm, which his roommate confirmed, it seems unlikely he would have had
time to abuse your son, unless it was very quick. Unless we get a DNA match
on the tissues or from Sammy's medical exam, I doubt we can make a case."

	"Are you kidding me?" blurted Scott. "You know he did it. Sammy
told you he did."

	"We're not sure he wasn't coached by you into saying Devon did it
in order to protect Tom. Tom is a much more likely suspect and has a
history, and we have the confession that he was in the house with Sammy
naked. Our profilers think the evidence is strongest for him. Until we get
some kind of DNA results, we're continuing to hold Tom."

	Scott stared in disbelief. His father stared at Scott. "Scott, did
you suggest to Sammy that it might be this Devon guy?"

	"Not you too? I told you the truth. Sammy told the truth. Why won't
you believe us. Devon's the creep who did this. You can't let him get away
with it. You can't." Scott ran to Sammy's room and burst in. The social
worker looked up as he rushed in.

	"Sammy. Tell her exactly who did this to you," Scott said.

	"I did. It was Devon from the Rec Center. I told them lots of
times," whined Sammy, frustrated.

	"There. See. Why won't you believe it?"

	"Scott, you need to leave here." The detective took his arm, and
Scott pulled free.

	"This isn't right. You're accusing the wrong person. It wasn't
Tom. Sammy, tell them."

	 "I did. Lots. Tom didn't hurt me, he saved me. He came in and it
scared Devon. So Devon warned me if I told on him he would kill me and my
family. He hid in the closet and I wiped the slippery stuff off with the
tissues and pulled on Scott's shorts. Then Tom came in my room and saved
me. I went to my room and put on some boxers and my own shorts to go to
Tommy's house in."

	"Where are the boxers you put on Sammy? They might have DNA
evidence in them," asked the detective.

	"I put them in the bathtub because they were wet. I wore them
swimming at Tommy's house."

	"Oh, well I'll take them anyway, but if you were in a chlorine
pool, there's almost no chance of anything useful left. It's time for
Sammy's medical evaluation so I'll need you or your wife to accompany us,
please," said the detective to their father.

	Sammy left with his dad and went to be examined. The physician was
very kind and Sammy's father stayed with him the whole time. Sammy
recounted everything that happened to the doctor again and the doctor
listened patiently. He had Sammy take off just his shirt and shoes and
socks at first. He examined him for any bruises. There were no obvious
bruises, cuts or scratches beyond the normal marks on a young boy that were
all too far along in the healing process to be from the incident. To help
Sammy feel more comfortable, the doctor had him put his shirt back on
before taking off his pants, so that he wouldn't have to be completely
naked at any time. The doctor examined his privates and found no evidence
of trauma. Finally, he examined his anus and took some swabs from
inside. He warned Sammy he was going to slide something up inside to check
for any tears or damage and he showed Sammy the metal gun shaped thing he
was going to use. Sammy knelt on the table similar to the position Devon
had put him in and held his father's hand while the doctor checked up
inside. Sammy's father caught the doctor's eye after he removed the
proctoscope and the doctor gave a negative shake of his head. Sammy's
father blew out a relieved sigh.

	As soon as they got home, Scott and their mother wanted to know
what they found. Their father put them off and sent Sammy into his room for
a minute. "The doctor indicated to me that he didn't think Sammy was
penetrated. Thank God. We couldn't really talk, but he shook his head, no,
when Sammy wasn't looking."

	Back in the Boise central jail, Tom sat on the wooden bench feeling
only half alive. He'd napped off and on by leaning against the concrete
wall. The beds were too disgusting to even think about lying on. He'd been
moved from the holding cell into a regular cell with five other guys in
it. He'd had nothing to eat until noon when they were led to the
cafeteria. A burly man in his forties walked up to Tom as he sat eating his
bologna sandwich and apple slices. "Word is yur one o' them peedofiles. I
hear you was buggerin' some little boy."

	Tom didn't respond. He just looked on the large man and then turned
his gaze back to his meal. "No. I didn't do anything."

	The big man and everyone around him laughed. "Sure. None of us
did. That's why we're here. You heard talk ever about what they do to
scumbags like you in prison? Well, it's all true." Tom didn't even realize
what hit him. He was just suddenly on the floor. The impact of the blow to
his head rattled him and he was only vaguely aware of the remaining
beating. The guards watched for a bit and then began to take
control. Prisoners scattered quickly when they blew the whistles. They
picked Tom up and carried him to the medical room on a board. He was locked
in a solitary room and his injuries were treated.  Later that evening, he
walked slumped over and holding his bruised ribs into an interrogation
room. A young man with slicked back hair sat next to him and introduced
himself as the public defender.

	Tom told him the whole story and he listened impatiently. He rushed
him through parts and finally asked. "Deed you abuse that Johnson kid? It's
just between us. You can tell me the truth and I cain't tell anyone, but I
need to know in order to try and defend you if you did it."

	"No. I could never do something like that. It happened exactly like
I said."

	"Wayell," he said with an odd accent Tom couldn't place, "I'm
afraid if any physical evidence shows up linking you at all, you're going
down. You might just want to reconsider a plea. Too early to say just yet,
course, I'm just saying, you know what you might consider. Could be a whole
lot more of what you got today in your future, if'n you know what I mean."
Tom did know. He wished he could just die. He wished the asshole in the
lunchroom had just killed him. He was escorted back to his cell where the
other cellmates avoided him. He curled up on the disgusting bare mattress
of a lower bunk and squeezed his eyes shut and tried to ignore the smell.

	It was evening before the detective called back to the Johnson
home. Scott's father left the room to talk. When he hung up the phone, he
asked everyone to come into the room. "I just got off the phone with
detective Adams. The tests came back negative from Sammy's
examination. It's clear that his attacker was stopped before he really
could do serious harm to Sammy. However, there's also no real evidence to
charge Devon with. The police and the social worker are still stuck on
believing it was Tom who did it and that Scott put the idea in Sammy's head
about Devon." Both Scott and Sammy started to object, but their father put
his hand up and continued, "I believe both of you. I believe it was Devon,
but we have no control over this. Because Sammy is sticking to the story
that Tom is innocent, they asked me if I wanted to continue to press
charges against Tom or not, and of course I said no. They are releasing him
now."

	"Dad we have to get in touch with Tom. We have to find out if he
needs help," Scott pleaded.

"I asked about that. They can't give me any personal information on
him. Detective Adams agreed, reluctantly, to call the jail and ask them to
give Tom our number and it's up to him if he wants to call or not. That's
all we can do."

	Scott went to his room and pulled up the Boise phone directory and
started calling all the Morris' listed, asking if they had a son named Tom,
until his father caught him at it and made him stop.

	When they called his name, he didn't immediately respond. "Hey get
up now!" Something was jabbed in his sore ribs and Tom recoiled. Slowly, he
stood up and let them cuff him. He walked down the hall and surprisingly
past the interrogation room. They were buzzed into the room where he had
given up his possessions and had his picture taken. The handcuffs were
removed and he was told he was being released. He went to a window where an
old man pulled his envelope and shook out its contents. His cell phone,
wallet, and keys along with a tube of Chapstick tumbled out. He was
directed to another door and exited into the evening air of downtown Boise.

	Tom walked to a bus stop bench and pulled out his phone. He was
relieved to see it had a charge still left in it. He dialed his
aunt. "Hello," she said. "Oh, Tom, I've been so worried. You're out now?"

	"Yes, Aunt Susan. It was all a mistake. A huge misunderstanding and
I guess they sorted it out. Can you come pick me up? I'm in front of the
police station downtown."

	There was a long pause. Tom was just about to ask if he'd lost
connection, when his Aunt Susan said, "Oh dear. I'm afraid I can't let you
come back here. It's your Uncle George. He's been talking with your father
and ... well I just can't have you come back."

	"But, I didn't do anything. I'm innocent."

	"Yes, dear, I couldn't believe it of you, but I can't go against
your uncle's wishes."

	"Aunt Susan, I have nowhere else to go. Please don't do this. Can I
talk to Uncle George?"

	"Oh no, that wouldn't be a good idea at all. Dear me, no. Take a
cab to the gas station around the corner. Call me when you get there and
I'll meet you and pay for the cab. I'll put your things in your car and you
can walk over and take it."

	"Take it where, Aunt Susan? Take it where?"

	"I don't know, dear. You just can't stay here. And, it would be
best if you didn't let Uncle George see you when you come by. Just get in
your car and go."

	"Okay." Tom was despondent. He had a job lined up for when college
started, but he had nowhere to go until then. The little bit of money he
had saved up from the odd jobs his Uncle George had gotten him wouldn't
last long. Just then he was startled by a voice calling his name.

	"Are you Tom Morris?"

	Tom looked up and his heart sank. A uniformed policeman was
standing over him. "What now?" he asked despondently.

	"We were supposed to give you this before you left the jail." He
handed him a slip of paper. Tom read "Johnson 555-2347 wants you to call."

	"Thanks." He spoke it to the back of the policeman who had already
turned and started walking away. Tom started dialing, then stopped. He
wondered if this was some kind of trick. He wondered if his phone was
bugged and they wanted to trick him into saying something that would
incriminate him more. He cancelled it and waved down a taxi.

	True to her word, his aunt was at the gas station and paid the cab
driver. She was in a house dress and slippers. "My dear, what happened to
you?" She reached gently up to touch his battered face. His eye was already
very blackened.

	"Never mind," Tom said, pulling her hand away from his tender
injury.

She gave him a hundred dollars in twenties and apologized weakly before
hurrying off back home. Tom walked slowly around the corner and up the
street. He saw his aunt disappear into her front door and heard the
finality of the door latching shut. He pulled the slip of paper from his
pocket and rubbed his sore ribs. He slipped into the driver's seat of the
old car his uncle had given him. He wondered if he was supposed to be quiet
because the gift was being taken back. He started the car and pulled out
then drove off without looking in his mirror. He hoped there wouldn't be
unpleasant consequences for his aunt helping him as much as she did.

He considered getting a motel, but when he counted his money and had barely
four hundred dollars total, he changed his mind. He drove out of town and
up to a favorite campground. The campground was full, but he took a seldom
traveled dirt road and found a wide spot to pull over in. He locked the
doors and fell into a fitful slumber. First though, he pulled the slip of
paper from his pocket and started dialing 555-2." He stopped, held the
phone suspended for a minute, then hit cancel.

Scott sat by the phone until well past midnight, willing it to
ring. Finally, his father came out and insisted he go to bed. Sammy slept
in his parents' room on the floor with some blankets. A Sunday none of them
would ever forget had finally come to an end. Scott lay down and through
trickling tears prayed out loud, "Dear God, watch over Tom, wherever he
is."

Tom woke with the sun hitting him in the eyes. He got out of the car and
stretched. He ached everywhere but especially his ribs. He walked down to a
creek and splashed water in his face. He decided to drive over to the
campground and use the quarter showers to clean up. "I'll just do this
until school starts," he said to himself. The idea of being alone and free
in the hills appealed to him somehow. He'd never appreciated the freedom of
the woods so much before. He drove into the campsite and waited for a
shower to come available. He had his toiletries and a towel from his gym
bag that was in his trunk. A door opened and a small boy came out with his
towel wrapped around him and struggling to hold his clothes and soap and
shampoo bottle. His towel came loose and dropped to the ground exposing his
cute little boy bottom. He plugged his phone charger into the wall socket
and stripped out of his clothes. He put the quarters into the slot and
adjusted the water as hot as he could stand it. He soaped up and rinsed
quickly then shampooed his hair.

The intensity of the last day and a half's events overwhelmed him and he
started to cry. Partly in relief for being free and partly in sadness for
all he'd lost. He thought about Camp Challenge and the shower sort of
reminded him of the showers there. He remembered all the campers showering
and he remembered playing around with Scott. He thought about washing down
the showers with Scott and doing it in the nude and he wondered how Scott
and especially poor Sammy were doing. He remembered sharing the sleeping
bag with Scott and soon was jerking his erection in the hot water. He was
in serious need of a release. He fantasized about Scott and pulled on
himself as the hot water pelted his back and butt. He thought about some
hidden camera videos he'd seen on the net and he quickly glanced up to be
sure there were none in there. He shook his head at his stupidity for
looking.

He closed his eyes and lost himself in the self satisfaction of a hand
job. He enjoyed the feel of his dick in his grip and the rising power of
the orgasm. He wanted to purge himself of all sexual desire and he leaned
his head back against the wall and let the hot stream pour over his chest
and run down around his balls as the first shot erupted from his dick. The
familiar feeling surged through him as the remainder of his load spilled
out into the shower stall. He stopped holding his breath and squeezed the
last of his cum out of his tubing as the water shut off. He thought about
adding quarters but decided against it. He dried himself off as his
erection subsided taking with it the strain of the past day. He was feeling
hopeful again.

Before he could dress, his phone started to buzz. He looked at it and it
was a message from his Uncle George. "Return stolen car before noon, or I
call the police."

"Damn. Why can it never be easy?" Tom gazed upward and held his hands up
and cried out, "Really God? Really? All I did was masturbate. Okay, I
thought about Scott while I did it, but isn't this a bit harsh?"

Tom dressed and walked back to the car. He tossed his bag inside and kicked
the back door panel adding a fresh dent. He climbed in and drove back to
Boise. He knocked on the door and his uncle let him in. They sat in the
living room and his aunt was nowhere in sight.

"Please Uncle George, can I just borrow the car for a while until my job
starts and I go to college? I didn't do anything wrong. It was a mistake."

Tom lost track of the number of times his uncle used the words, faggot,
homo and gay. He realized quickly there was no hope of persuading him and
during a break in the tirade, agreed to borrow a suitcase to put as many of
his clothes in as would fit and to leave the car behind. He also gave back
the hundred dollars his aunt had given him the night before, leaving him
with barely three hundred. Tom walked sadly down the sidewalk, up the
street and around the corner. He went to the gas station and stood in front
of the glass cooler. He stared at the beer and even though he wasn't old
enough, he supposed he could get away with it. He considered buying a six
pack and getting very drunk even though he wasn't a drinker.

Instead, he bought a cream soda and a bag of Doritos. He sat on the bench
and wondered what to do. At last he pulled the slip of paper from his
pocket and dialed.

Scott had risen early in spite of going to bed so late and he stared at the
phone all the while he slurped down some cereal. He dressed in old clothes
and headed off on his bicycle to the Jenkins place. He explained that he
would bring his motorbike by later in the week and for the first day he
just rode along with Mr. Jenkins while he taught him how to do the
irrigation.  When the morning tubes were all set, he walked back home to
wait until the afternoon watering started. He just walked into the kitchen
and grabbed a soda from the fridge when the phone rang. He sprinted to
answer it.

"Hello, Johnsons."

"Scott? Is that you?"

"Oh my God, Tom. Are you all right? I've been so worried about you. I'm so
sorry about all this. I'm so sorry."

"Calm down Scott. I'm fine. It's not your fault what happened. It was just
a horrible coincidence. I need to talk to your mom or your dad," Tom said.

"Why?"

"I just do."

"Mom? Come quick. It's Tom. He needs to talk to you," Scott called out. His
mom came into the room and took the phone.

"Yes. Okay, I'll be there as soon as I can. Of course, don't worry about
it." She hung up and explained that Tom needed a place to stay temporarily
and she was going to Boise to get him. They would figure it out once their
father came home. Scott was relieved, excited and terribly nervous as he
watched his mom drive off with Sammy in the car with her. He watched until
they were completely out of sight before heading back over to Mr. Jenkins'
farm on his bicycle.